


oh darling, but you're incandescent

by maybetwice



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Banter, Cunnilingus, F/M, New Year's Kiss, New Years, Oral Sex, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:10:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9191297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/maybetwice
Summary: Midnight comes and goes and Ginny still wants her kiss.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dansunedisco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/gifts).



> For dansunedisco, who is an ENABLING ENABLER.

“You know,” says Ginny around two-thirty, after she’s abandoned her shoes in the corner and everyone else has left his New Year’s Eve party, spinning a single curl around her forefinger. “There was something in the New York Times today about kissing mindfully.” 

Mike looks up at her and even though he’s been feeling the hour, was looking forward to collapsing face first into his bed, he suddenly feels like someone just set a live wire against his bare skin. Even the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. 

He’s not drunk anymore, not like he was at about a minute after midnight, feeling like he might tip over into the pool in an instant if he shifted his weight wrong. He doesn’t think Ginny is, either. But then she leans forward, her elbows close to her breasts, and he remembers the bolt of excitement that went through him when she first walked into his house wearing tight jeans and about half a shirt, spangled and gold and tight against her skin. 

He snaps his eyes back up to her face and tries not to look too interested when he grabs up a half-finished bottle of champagne off the coffee table. “Okay.”

“And,” Ginny continues meaningfully, following him around the corner and into the kitchen. 

“And?” Mike regrets asking it almost immediately, tries to look at his kitchen counters instead, which will need a heavy duty cleaning first thing in the morning. 

Ginny looks not a little bit triumphant, leaning her ass against the oven door and crossing her arms over her chest. “And no one kissed me at midnight.”

“Bullshit,” Mike says, trying to remember who she was standing with when the ball finally dropped and the crackle of fireworks echoed all the way down the hill Mike’s house looks over, bursts of color and light reflecting on the black tides of the beach below. There was Evelyn, bent forward on Blip’s lap, her arms on his shoulders and his face tipped upward to hers. Sonny’s wife pulled him down for a kiss. Salvi, Evers, Shrek, and– 

Mike flashes a memory of Ginny standing next to him when it flipped over to midnight, although she’d been facing the other direction, looking out the windows instead of at the rest of the room, as if she didn’t want anyone to see her just then. It hadn’t seemed important at the time, but she’d been close enough that Mike felt her heat through the sleeve of his shirt. 

“No one kissed me at midnight,” Ginny repeats, and there’s no mistaking that look in her eyes, or the upward tilt of her chin inviting him in.

Mike misses the first time he tries setting down the champagne bottle, the bottom sliding right off the edge of his countertop. Ginny pushes off from the oven and takes it from him, setting it down with a firm, sure sound that echoes in the sudden quiet of his house. There’s no more music, no soft roar of conversation, laughter and glasses clinking. Just the two of them, softly lit in the indirect light from the other room, the explosions of delayed fireworks sounding like they’re in a parallel universe instead of half a mile up the street. 

Ginny can’t be drunk. She switched to sparkling water not long after midnight, because he remembers opening the bottle for her, her fingertips brushing his arm and leaving glowing prints of warmth. She does the same now, reaching for him with intent, rather than as a coy flirtation, and Mike stops breathing for an instant.

“That’s a shame,” he hears himself say in an unfamiliar rasp, husky and low. 

Her hand is on his elbow and her eyes are turned hopefully on his and he remembers that he’s wanted this, wanted _her_ for a lot longer than one night of her merry laugh filling his house from floor to ceiling. Ginny’s tongue darts out to wet her plush, lower lip and Mike caves. He tips her face up with a crooked forefinger, searches each minute emotion that flickers there: expectation, relief, need–

_Jesus._

Ginny finally closes the space left between them, pushing up onto the balls of her feet, but it’s not nearly enough time to prepare him for the crash of her mouth against his or when she throws her weight into his arms. Her lips are softer than he imagined in the half-hundred times he’s allowed himself to dream of this, but her teeth are swift and sharp, nipping at the fattest part of his lower lip. Mike opens his mouth to hiss in surprise, but Ginny is all long-limbed, youthful eagerness, grabbing at his shoulders and following the seam of his mouth with her quick tongue. He can’t even finish a thought, can’t do more than react. He could do this pretty much forever, if she wanted.

And he’s still leaning into her when Ginny breaks away, presses her forehead to his for an instant before she leans back to look at him. “Mike,” she breathes. Her hair is a perfect halo around her face. She looks more beautiful than anything Mike’s ever seen.

He needs to recover somehow, or he’s going to be in trouble. Mike tries thinking of something cleverly sharp to say, something about how it’s good enough kissing for a rookie. He’d settle for literally anything but gawking at her like a fool.

Instead, he asks, “Mindful enough for you?” and waits for her to laugh, which she does. She also doesn’t let go of his shoulders, fingering the collar of his shirt, burning prints into his neck when her palms graze bare skin. 

“I think your mind was somewhere else,” she fires back, and her eyes are on his mouth again. “You want to give it another try?”

He does. _God,_ he does. But he’s back to feeling lightheaded and giddy, like he’s just taken three shots of Ginny Baker back-to-back and is reaching for a fourth. He says, “Not in the kitchen,” and sees something dark and velvety pass over her face. 

“Okay,” she says, loosening her grip on him and letting Mike walk her back into the living room. Her hand darts out to flip down the lights, grinning wickedly at his astonished face when the lights dim. Their reflections are like shades of them, doing everything they are but in reverse. 

“Hey,” says Ginny, on the sharp incline of a laugh. “Eyes on me.”

As if Mike would ever have a problem with that. “We’re still being mindful?” he asks, reaching down and lifting her up into his arms, even though it makes his whole body quake with effort. She’s solid under his hands, but he can feel a different muscle under each of his ten fingers, and each quivering in its own way. He tries not to name them when she collapses against his chest, laughing merrily. 

Mike wants to toss her down onto his absurd couch, a modern style with sharp, squared corners and not nearly enough cushion. He wants to fuck her raw until she comes apart under his hands a half-dozen times, until every one of those taut muscles of hers are loose with bliss. Until his knees give out, and even then.

“Fuck, Ginny,” Mike grits out in a gravelly voice, because she’s fully dressed and blinking at him with heavy, sleepy lids. 

“That’s the idea,” she suggests warmly, squirming a little in his arms. He tries to remember that she had a rule about dating teammates, tries to remind himself that’s all he’s supposed to be to her, but that’s a fiction that neither of them believe in, that they’re _only_ teammates to the other. 

Mike sits himself on the couch, holding Ginny up in his arms like something precious. She surges forward to kiss him again, scraping fingernails down his scalp and leaving a shower of sparks to flow down his spine like the sparklers they lit in the yard. His fingers find the hem of her shirt by the rough sequins at the edge of it, then the smooth expanse of bare brown skin underneath. Ginny shivers at first, shying away from the kiss, and then she nods her approval and kisses him again, very hard. 

There’s no reason for him to be surprised to find that the shirt’s the only thing she has on. It leaves very little to the imagination, it’s just that it hadn’t even occurred to him to wonder whether she was wearing a bra until Ginny thrusts forward and Mike finds himself with handfuls of her breasts. He hurries in pushing away the flimsy, glittering garment, pulling it over her head and palming her carefully until he has a better idea of what she likes. When Mike rolls one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, Ginny bucks in his lap, halfway swallowing her surprised cry. 

“You like that,” he realizes aloud and does it again, twirling the dark, swollen bud between the pads of his fingers, then ducks down to hold it between his lips. Ginny’s next sound is a quiet, hoarse moan that feels like it vibrates through every point of connection between them: his mouth on her breast, his hands around the landscape of her ribcage, her ass pressed against his quads, knees tight at his hips. Mike moans then, too, soothing the flat of his tongue over her nipple after a flash of teeth. 

“Okay,” says Ginny, her voice suddenly rough and needy. “Okay.” She drags his face up for another kiss, bumping chins and teeth in all her overabundance of eagerness. 

_Shit,_ Mike thinks, remembering that she’s twenty-four and more athletic than he thinks he’s ever been in his entire life, even in his prime. “Ginny,” he says, more an imploring whimper than he ever means for it to come out.

She blinks at him, surprised and a little confused, but it’s nothing like when Mike twists them around, lets his head fall back into the stiff cushion so she’s left straddling his waist, wide-eyed and bare-chested, the most magnificent thing Mike will ever see. He reaches for the button of her jeans, eyes locked on hers when he eases the zipper down. If she doesn’t want this, he thinks, if she refuses…

Ginny wants it. She lifts her hips for him, lets him push her jeans off, shifting awkwardly only once to shake off the tight denim. He thought she’d be the kind to wear practical underwear, neutral colored boyshorts or something like that, but instead she’s wearing a lacy, pink thong, the same hot pink shade as the dress she wore for her late night circuit, or even her favorite lycra leggings. Mike thinks it might be her favorite color. He also thinks it might be his new favorite color. 

He doesn’t even have the chance to say anything, nor touch it. Ginny’s eyes land on the hard, obvious bulge in his jeans, a triumphant smile ghosting across her mouth. _Yes, it’s because of you,_ Mike wants to tell her, spilling out his darkest secrets at her easiest whim. _Yes, I’ve always wanted you._

She only points at his buttoned shirt, a clear command that Mike instantly understands. He shucks it easily, letting Ginny skim her palms over his chest, staring down at him with her attracting left wide open for him to see. Mike’s heart skitters in his chest, and he pulls her forward over his chest until she gets the idea and walks forward on her knees, barely breathing. 

Mike makes a point of looking up at her, a clear line from the little, well-groomed thatch of dark curls up her belly, between her breasts, and to her face. Ginny’s mouth is just parted, her lower lip glistening with a hint of wetness when she pulls it between her teeth, pushes a hand through her hair. Her knees are shaking a little, but she watches Mike. Makes a point of watching him.

“You like what you see?” she asks breathily. He knows she means it to be a tease, but she sounds a little too into it to pull it off with the nonchalance she wants.

Well, then. 

He holds her gaze the whole time he pulls her knees up over his shoulders, planting them into the stiff leather on either side of his head. His fingers trace nonsense patterns along her inner thighs, slow enough to let her get used to the idea of what he wants to do. 

Well, if it’s mindful she wants, Mike thinks a little wickedly when his knuckles graze along the seam of her cunt over her thong. Ginny sucks in a desperate gulp of air and Mike has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes that she’s actually soaked through her underwear. 

He’s about to push aside her underwear when she hooks her thumbs into the twisted scrap of fabric and shimmies out of it while Mike watches, forgetting to breathe all over again. When she looks back down at him, obscenely long lashes fluttering with need, he feels like his heart’s stopped. Mike wants to tell her she’s beautiful, but she knows that. He wants to tell her he wants her, but by the way her eyes slide down again until they lock on his painfully obvious erection before she lets him guide her over his face, straining uncomfortably against the limits of his jeans, she knows that, too.

“Please,” she whimpers softly, steadying her weight on her knees and finally closing her eyes when Mike tips his chin back and gently opens her up. He feels like he’ll drown in her scent. Suddenly, it’s the only way he wants to go.

Mike isn’t sure if he thought she’d be shy about it, but he’s still pleasantly surprised when Ginny actually rolls her hips _down_ when he licks a long stripe through her wetness, circling around her hooded clit. He’s careful the first time he flicks up against it, but if he was worried about how slow she needs him to take this, Ginny surprises him. She bucks a little, grinding against his face, gripping wildly for the back of the couch with one hand and stuffing the heel of the other into her mouth. “Shit,” Mike hears her say through the ball of her fist. Her knees shudder on either side of his ears. “Shit. _Mike._ ”

Mike adjusts his hold on her so he can keep the bunched knot of her underwear to one side, licking his way deeper into her, heedless to anything but the heavy smell of her that’s all around him. He knows he’s not bad. He learned to do this a long time before, _likes_ doing it because he loves the taste, the sound, the feel of a woman crumbling apart when he finds exactly the way they like it. When he manages just the right amount of suction on the clitoris, or the rapidfire probe of his tongue. 

But doing it with Ginny is more than that. The hand clawing at the edge of his couch fumbles for his hair, scratching lightly when she tries to grab hold of the short strands, sobbing through a pleased whimper, then a sharp yelp when Mike grazes his teeth along the edge of her labia. His beard is already soaked and Mike feels heavy, drunk on her scent and the silk-smooth skin of her thighs shivering against his red-hot ears. Then Ginny freezes, her back straight like a rod, and Mike’s eyes fly upward, although he can’t clearly make out her face from a mile down, his face buried in her thighs.

Ginny crumples forward, clamping her knees like a vice, doubling over with a rapturous sound that Mike wants to remember forever, wants to replay on his worst days. She soaks him in a fresh flood of wetness, pulsing in rapidfire bursts that Mike feels in her thighs and all the way down into his dick.

He sucks in a greedy breath of air when she shifts off his face, leaning her weight against the back of the couch while Mike gets his bearings. He’s short of breath, lightheaded with his success. For a few, ludicrous seconds, he considers doing it again and again, until she collapses as a puddle against him. Mike isn’t sure he actually cares about ever getting off again, if he can explore each of a thousand ways of getting Ginny to come for him until he’s mastered every one of them. Then Ginny leans back against his bent knees, lounging as easily as if he were a chair for her, slumped lazily to one side, bliss etched in every last one of her features.

“Was that the kind of mindful kissing you had in mind?” he asks, feeling a little self-satisfied and smug when Ginny actually blushes all the way down her chest, darkening around her tightened nipples. 

“Not exactly,” she admits, rubbing her palm over her cheek sleepily. Her dimples pop on her cheeks, telling Mike all he needs to know about her giddy mood. She seems like the kind who falls asleep almost immediately after her orgasm, although it could be the hour and all the champagne she’s had. “But I’m not complaining.” 

“How about I put you to bed,” Mike suggests instead, reaching up for her before he can stop himself, lazily dragging his thumb over her nipple and watching Ginny tremble through the aftershocks of her orgasm. He’s desperate to touch her however he can. He’s still hard in his jeans, but he’s too tired to do anything about it now. Besides, that can wait. It’s a new year. What’s to say he won’t have all the time in the world later?

“Take me to bed, old man,” Ginny sighs with a fond smile, holding out a hand for him, letting him pull her up the stairs after him, abandoning her clothes by his couch. “I’ll show you what I mean about _mindful_ in the morning.”


End file.
